Springtime Sickness
by cheesemaker
Summary: Harry is sick, Draco has a nogood horrible very bad day, and Crabbe and Goyle get lost in a corridor. Slight HD slash...


Springtime Sickness 

Author: vacuous.girl 

Pairing: Harry/Draco 

Rating: PG-13 

Disclaimer/Warning: The characters are the property of JK Rowling etc. I'm not making any profit...blah, blah, blah. This is **slash** so if you don't like **boys liking boys**, go elsewhere. 

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High in the sky, the sun shined brightly above the quidditch pitch. The grass was green, the flowers were blooming, and birds were cheerfully chirping away. It was the perfect day to play quidditch. 

In spite of it all, Draco Malfoy was having a really, really bad day. He had slipped during his shower and had gotten a bruise. His toast had been burnt. They didn't have the right brand of butter at breakfast. Someone took his favorite seat in Potions. There were floaties in his pumpkin juice. He'd broken his favorite quill. And now..._this_. 

All day he was looking forward to playing quidditch against the Gryffindors. He'd even been out on the pitch an hour earlier, flying around in anticipation. It was the last game he'd ever get to play against them. Against Potter. He'd been so excited about the game, that he hadn't bothered to protect himself from the strangely bright sun. 

After a couple hours of flying, he noticed that he was alone. There was no one filling the seats to watch. None of the other players were getting ready. Madam Hooch wasn't there either. He stalked back inside the castle. 

He accosted the first student he saw, which turned out to be some Ravenclaw first year. "What day is it?" he demanded. 

A mixture of terror and confusion was on the other's face. "We-Wednesday," the student stammered. 

Wednesday. That was the right day. So what was going on? "Is there not a quidditch match today?" he inquired. 

"Oh. It was cancelled. It was put off till next month," the other replied, looking more puzzled than scared now. "Didn't you know?" 

"No!" Draco snapped. He turned away and crossed his arms. The Ravenclaw fled. He felt very stupid and a little put out. Why hadn't anyone told him? It was evident that he'd been the last person to find out. He headed back to his dormitory. On the way back to the common room, he ran into Blaise, a chaser on the Slytherin house team. 

"Oh, hey Draco!" he said cheerfully, "Where've you been?" Draco started. Hadn't they all heard him when he'd announced he was going out to fly before the game started? Apparently no one had cared enough to listen to him. Bastards. 

"I was out," he said airily. He didn't want to sound needy by complaining. "So what's the news on that quidditch match? I heard it was cancelled." Draco was rather curious as to why it had been cancelled. The weather was nice enough... 

"Oh, right," Blaise said, "I heard Potter got some kind of cold, so he can't play. They're moving the game to next month sometime." 

"Wait a sec! They moved it for Potter's sake? Shouldn't it be an automatic forfeit?!" Draco demanded. Blaise shrugged disinterestedly. 

"That's blatant favoritism! It's so like this school to favor Potter and bend the rules for him!" Draco continued irritably. This was this day was just getting better and better. He hated the fact that the rules seemed to turn into rubber where Potter was concerned. 

"Right," Blaise agreed, not interested in Draco's rant in the least. He peered at Draco's face for a second and said, "Hey, is that a sunburn on your nose?" Draco's hand automatically flew to his face. He winced from the sting of the sunburn. This was the perfect end to the perfect day. "You know," Blaise continued, "you should get that fixed soon. Sunburns are bad for your skin." Draco was horrorfied. "Causes early wrinkling, I heard," Blaise said. With a squawk from Draco and a malicious smirk from Blaise, Draco set off for the hospital wing. 

Minutes later, Draco was seated on a bed under Madam Pomfrey's care, getting cream for his nose. She went off to get some more for him to take with him for later, and Draco was left to his own devices. He glanced around himself, bored now that his skin was taken care of. Then he remembered that Potter was supposed to be ill - too ill to play quidditch. Shouldn't he be in the hospital wing if he was _that_ sick? But it was utterly empty, except for him. 

Then he spotted two doors in the back of the wing, one open and one closed. His lip curled. How typical that Potter should get a private room when everyone else had to suffer in the open. He made a mental note to demand a private room next time he came down with a cold. He looked around to see if Pomfrey was around. Seeing that she was in her office, poking around some jars, he got up and walked to the closed door. 

Pushing it open, he felt the hot air, heavy with sickness and recycled breaths, escape the room. He stepped inside, noting the simple bed in the center and the bedside table. There was a pair of familiar glasses on the bedside table, along with a glass of water and a bowl of water with a wash cloth inside it. 

Potter was sleeping, inhaling and exhaling through chapped lips. His skin was covered with a sheen of sweat and his hair and pyjamas were wet with it. The blankets were twisted around, weaved through his limbs and pushed down to near the bottom of the bed. His right arm was thrown over his head, his other draped across his chest. Draco suddenly felt as though he were intruding on some private moment, seeing Potter in such a vulnerable position. This was not the perfect, poised Potter he was used to seeing. 

Suddenly, Potter's breathing became labored, and his eyes shot open. "Wa-water," he whispered hoarsely. Startled, Draco grabbed the glass on the bedside table and handed it to Potter, who struggled to sit up and drank the water hungrily. He finished it off and set it down on the table again. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and settled back heavily on the pillows. Draco suddenly realized that he was about to be caught watching Potter sleep. How utterly embarrassing. 

He started to back away. He felt that he should go grab his cream and get the hell outta there before anyone could get any incriminating evidence. And then Potter turned his green gaze on him and he froze. Potter had very pretty eyes. They were green. Not like that light, wimpy color of eyes that they call green, but _actual_ green. They were very striking. One just couldn't look away from them. Draco braced himself for the humiliation of Potter yelling at him for spying. But it never came. 

Instead, Harry smiled and said, "Thanks." Draco's insides squirmed alarmingly at the smile, open and warm and sincere. He'd never seen that smile directed at him. He had to admit that it was rather nice. Of course, that smile would never be directed at him if Harry was in his right mind. He was about to say 'your welcome' when he saw that Harry had fallen back asleep already. He stared at him for a couple seconds and then scurried back to where he'd been sitting. 

Just as he'd sat back down, Madam Pomfrey came out, holding a jar of cream. Perfect timing. 

He left to eat dinner, and spent his time trying not to think of Harry and his stupid smile and his stupid eyes. Consequently, he ended up spending all of dinner thinking about just those things. He was still quite embarrassed about the whole situation, but he realized that Potter probably didn't even know who it was that had handed him that water, being as blind as he was without his glasses. He was then distracted by someone asking him what the hell was on his nose. 

By Friday, Harry was well enough to return to classes. Draco, for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, avoided him. He felt nervous when Harry was around. He couldn't even bring himself to get annoyed when Harry was given special privileges or come up with a single scathing remark to throw at him. In fact, he started noticing that Harry wasn't the pompous, high-and-mighty boy he'd always thought he was. It made him even more nervous. 

It got to the point where Draco started taking alternate routes to his classes to avoid Harry. He tried never to see Harry unless it was absolutely necessary. He always made sure that he was the last in class and the first out the door whenever they shared a room. Crabbe and Goyle were slightly confused by this change in their daily routine, but they followed him nonetheless. He didn't really take notice of them, however, and they sometimes got lost when he left them behind in unfamiliar corridors. 

It was one such time when he ran into Harry Potter in some obscure hall on his way to one of his non-Potter classes. His heart almost jumped up his throat in surprise. Harry didn't see him. He was reading a book and walking at the same time. Draco prayed that he would pass by unnoticed as he continued walking at a brisk pace forward. 

In a very unfortunate series of events, Draco felt the sudden urge to sneeze. It wasn't unusual, because he usually travelled in the older and less used hallways which were more prone to dust. Since he'd started using these new routes to class he'd been sneezing more than ten times a day. He twitched his nose in an effort to stifle his sneeze. It just got worse. He touched his hand to his nose and... 

he sneezed. 

It seemed like the loudest thing he'd heard all day. The sound of the sneeze seemed to rise up and echo all through the damn hallway. He winced. Harry stopped and looked up, just a few feet in front of Draco. He pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted at Draco in the dim light. A flash of recognition spread across his face. "Oh, Malfoy," he said. Then he added, "Bless you," a second later. 

Draco had the sudden urge to tell him that it was bad for your eyes to read in poor lighting. He was also about to say 'thank you', but thought better of it. "What are _you_ doing here, Potter?" he demanded irritably. 

Harry blinked. "Reading," he said, gesturing with the book in his hands. Draco felt like an idiot. "What are you doing?" he returned. 

"Going to my class. Shouldn't you hurry along and get to yours?" Draco asked, trying to maintain his irritation at this innocently puzzled boy. 

"Oh, no. This is my free period," Harry replied. Draco wondered why Harry was alone with a book, rather than with his two sidekicks. "Ron and Hermione both have classes this hour, so I'm just catching up on some reading," Harry continued, as though he knew what Draco was thinking. 

"Oh." Draco groaned inwardly. Couldn't get more eloquent than that, could he? Then he noticed Harry peering intently at his face. He drew back a little. "What?" he asked defensively. 

Harry looked self-concious. Was that a slight blush rising to his cheeks? "I was just wondering if your sunburn got better, is all." 

"M-my sunburn?" Draco stuttered. He was starting to feel a realization bubble to the surface. 

"Yeah." Harry looked down and pushed his hair out of his face nervously. "Madam Pomfrey told me you went to get some sunburn cream for your nose when you came and visited me." Draco looked blank, but his mind was raging with thoughts. "When I was sick. At the hospital wing," Harry went on, as if he thought Draco couldn't remember. He looked uncertainly into Draco's eyes. 

"Oh, yeah," Draco whispered faintly. Was it just him, or was it getting rather hot in the hallway all of a sudden? 

"Well," Harry said, clapping Draco on the shoulder, "glad you're all healed up then. And thanks for getting me that water that time." He glanced at his watch. "Oh, you'd better get to class, or you'll be late. See ya' around, Malfoy," Harry said, smiling that same stupid smile from the hospital wing before detaching his hand from Draco's shoulder and walking on past. 

Draco felt frozen in place. Harry had smiled at him. Again. Harry had asked about his well-being. Harry had had a normal, civil conversation with him. Harry had started blushing at some point. Harry had put his hand on his shoulder. Draco felt...very funny. He couldn't quite put his finger on the feelings running through him. 

Perhaps he was coming down with something. 

----- 

End 

**Author Notes:** It seems like I just can't bring myself to write straightforward slash. My fics don't deserve to be PG-13. ^^; I only rate them that way, because of the slight slashiness. It's written from a predominantly third-person Draco-view, like my last ficlet. I like writing him in denial or unaware of his feelings, but I'm not sure he's entirely in character. Anyhow, I'm satisfied with this fic, which really isn't saying much. I've been writing and re-writing this ficlet for months. I'm just glad it's done. I shall never re-write it again. ...so there! I hate the title. I couldn't think of anything else on the fly, so there it be. I'm not even sure I mentioned it was spring in the fic anywhere. I'm not really aware of the weather patterns at Hogwarts or whether it's even possible to get a sunburn there. The movie-weather seemed pretty nice during that quidditch match, so that's what I'm basing it on. Besides, Draco's borderline albino. I shall stop babbling now. Feedback appreciated. 


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